Where are you going, my baby, my own?
Turn around and you're two
Turn around and you're four
Turn around and you're a young boy
Going out of the door
. . .Where have they gone
My babies, my own
Turn around and they’re young
Turn around and they’re old
Turn around and they’re gone
And we’ve no one to hold.
* * *
My baby boy "graduated" from preschool this week, and I wonder, like the words of this song, where my baby has gone. I miss him even as he is with me, as every minute seems to bring changes and with every passing moment he grows up. As he should.
Because I lost Ben, maybe I love my children more, now. Maybe I appreciate where they are in every moment, how precious they are. But I still wish I could keep them small for a little while longer. If I could change one thing about myself, it would be this: how hard it is for me to let my babies go, how sentimental I feel with each milestone. How much I wish I could squeeze this time into a bottle and keep it with me forever.
How much I will miss right now, when it's over.